All posts for the month October, 2014

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over 18s only!

Outside the living room door, Grandpa listened intently to the two men shouting. He turned up his hearing aid, so as not to miss a single word. Clearly, it was the long-expected showdown between his son, Gary, and his grandson, Wayne.

“And so, Wayne, I have decided to bring the cane out of retirement!”

“Get real, Dad! I’m 22 now, you can’t lay a finger on me!”

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’ve decided! I’m sure Grandad would agree with me. He was complaining about your behaviour only the other day. In fact, the caning was his bright idea.”

“What? You should know better than to listen to that silly old git!”

“Respect, Wayne, respect! Don’t talk about my dad that way. He’s been really kind letting us stay here in his house after all the misfortune we’ve suffered.”

“Yes, I suppose. But I could do without his cranky ideas, Dad. Really, no-one gets the cane these days. Especially not adults in their twenties.” Wayne sighed contentedly. He felt he had won the argument, especially when he noticed his father lay the crook-handled cane down on the coffee table.

“That’s all irrelevant. Now listen to me!” his father resumed, “You are not an adult in your twenties. You are a teenager in your twenties!” With that, the cane was picked up again, flexed and swished through the air.

“I heard that!” his father snapped.

Unfortunately Grandpa hadn’t heard the whispered cursing, such a vital part of the family conflict unfolding on the other side of the door, so wasn’t sure quite what was happening.

“I don’t see why I should allow you the luxury of trousers, Wayne,” said Gary, swishing the cane once again, “Or underpants, come to that!”

“Oh Dad!”

“Come on, come on, I’ve seen it all before!”

Reluctantly, Wayne dropped his trousers and pants.

“Are those Batman underpants, Wayne?”

“Err, yes, they are.”

“Well, that rather proves my point Wayne! I used to watch Batman in my early teens, but would never have worn pants like that in my twenties! Most immature.”

“Dad! It’s fun, fashion! You just wouldn’t understand, would you?”

“Hey, there’s that cheeky attitude again. Don’t make things worse for yourself. Just be quiet now and bend over the table. I’m giving you six strokes, unless you hack me off anymore, that is!”

Wayne bent over dutifully. He definitely didn’t want to make things any worse. They were pretty bad, as it was. To be caned at 22! Oh, the shame and humiliation!

CRACK! The cane sliced down with a wicked retort. Wayne gasped. There had been a gap since he was last chastised this way and he’d quite forgotten how demonic the pain could be. The cane sprang back, leaving a wicked red signature on the lad’s otherwise pale buttocks.

“Very good! I like it,” his father said, “Let’s hope this teaches you to behave yourself in future!”

The springy cane slashed down again. This time it was a lower stroke, but somewhat harder. Wayne was as determined to stay quiet as his father was determined to break him.

Father won! Sooner than expected, too, for the third stroke caused Wayne to yelp just like a teenager.

It was a question that required no answer, but stupidly Wayne wouldn’t be silent, saying, “Of course it’s getting through, and I’m getting up. I’ve had enough!”

Roughly, father Gary pushed his son back over the table, shouting, “Shut up, boy! I’m the one that’s had enough! Three more strokes to come, and make sure you take you punishment like a man!”

The words cut Wayne like a knife. He was embarrassed and ashamed. He decided to push his bottom out provocatively for the next cane stroke, willing the rattan to do its worst. And it did. A cutting stroke whipped down, adding a fourth red stripe to the young man’s very spankable bottom. Gary had noticed his son had pushed his buttocks towards the chastising cane. He liked that a lot. He wanted that to be repeated.

“Stick your bottom out more, Wayne. I can hardly see it!”

Well, that wasn’t true, of course. Wayne’s arse was a shade on the large side, and just made for chastisement. It was what you might call well-padded. Yes, or generously upholstered.

The cane lashed down for a fifth time. Wayne yelped with pain, and his father sighed with something approaching pleasure, or certainly the knowledge of a job being well done. Outside the room, with his ear pressed right up to the door, Grandpa was also enjoying the audio of the show.

Gary waited for a few moments until his son stuck his bottom out submissively once again, a sign that he was ready for further punishment. The sixth and final stroke sliced down. It was the hardest yet, causing young Wayne to gasp and clutch at his bare buttocks, kneading them in a vain attempt to relieve the pain. Just then, Grandpa strolled into the room.

“DAD! I wish you’d knocked! I was just taking your advice and giving Wayne a well-deserved thrashing. He might have appreciated a bit of privacy, though!”

“Pah! I’ve always said that there are no secrets in my house. At least, I thought there weren’t until I found this in the dishwasher!” Grandpa waved a dark blue buttplug at the two men. Gary went bright red, while Wayne stood up looking alternately puzzled and pained. “Well now, who does this belong to?”

“It’s mine, Father. Sorry, I meant to take it out of the machine before you got home. This is all your fault, Wayne, for distracting me!”

“What exactly is it for, Gary?”

But the old man’s son was too embarrassed to answer. Instead, it fell to the caned grandson to explain, “It’s a buttplug I think, Grandad. It’s a bit gross, but you stick it up your bum for stimulation. Extra stimulation, as it were.”

“I thought so! How disgusting! Well, I never did. I’m going to have to put the dishes on for an extra cycle aren’t I? Gary?”

“Yes, Father?”

“Give me the cane, son.” Gary handed the cane to his father. He passed it on cautiously, almost as if the whippy rattan stick was red-hot from caning young Wayne. However, it wasn’t. The cane was, of course, decidedly cool. In more ways than one. “I’m confiscating this cane. From now on, I will be the one doing all the caning in this house. Gary, you are much too immature to supervise Wayne or be in charge of this weapon. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Wayne, how many strokes did your father give you?”

“They weren’t strokes Grandad! They bloody hurt! He gave me six hard whacks. Six of the best.”

“Well, I’m going to give you a couple more for swearing like that. And general attitude.”

“That’s not fair!”

Wayne bent as instructed. Now he was really pissed off. It was one thing to bend over for parental punishment, but another altogether to offer one’s bare backside to such a seedy old fellow, relative or not.

Grandad turned out to be an effective and enthusiastic caner. Wayne’s buttocks were soon throbbing with the two extra strokes, given rapidly and right on top of the earlier tramlines his father’s caning had left.

“Right, stay where you are Wayne. Don’t pull your pants up. Your father will now join you. I’m going to thrash him hard for leaving this disgusting object in my dishwasher. “

“But Dad, you can’t! Not with Wayne here!”

“I can and I will. I can see parallels with you two. You are both ungrateful for my hospitality here, and both in need of some strict correction. Things are going to change around here. Starting now! Gary, get your bottom bare for me!”

Reluctantly, Gary did as he was told. Fortunately, he had decided not to wear another buttplug from his collection, or any of the silky knickers he had hidden in his bedroom. To all appearances he was just another teenager waiting for the cane, lined up right next to his own son, bent over the living room table. His beige cord jeans were lowered, and his white briefs at half-mast. His perky buttocks were fully displayed for the wrath of his elderly father and the whippy cane. But he was no teenager, he was a man in his late forties. How shameful to be on display like this, bared for his father. He felt utterly humiliated; his status so diminished that it was perhaps even lower than that of his own son.

Grandpa commenced the punishment with an affable chuckle, “Twelve strokes for this naughty boy! If he wants extra stimulation for his bottom, I am happy to give it to him. With this cane.”

The cane cracked down with a carefree first stroke, indenting the flesh and donating a wicked red stripe. A second followed and then a third, all aimed with wild abandon as Grandpa revealed himself to be a cutter and slasher of no mean ability. It had been many years since Gary had been beaten by his father, but it was clear that the old man had lost none of his touch. Strokes four and five crashed down, causing writhing and gasping from the younger man. And then an almighty crack as the sixth landed. Grandson Wayne kept glancing over at his father to see how stoic he could be. The pain was excruciating, and the embarrassment even more overwhelming.

Suddenly, Grandpa announced, “I need a break for a minute. You two stay just where you are!” With the arch disciplinarian gone, Gary looked over at his son and winked at him. A big grin spread over Wayne’s face. This was a painful day for him, but he had to admit to himself that there was an element of fun in the proceedings. It felt deliciously pervy too to be mooning his Grandpa with his father doing exactly the same, right next to him.

Then, just as suddenly as he had left, Grandpa was back. Where had he been? For a wee, perhaps? Surely you know that nature waits for no old man! He wasn’t telling but he did say, “Right, let’s carry on from where we left off. There are going to be a lot of sore bottoms in this house from now on!” Yes, Grandpa laughed heartily at his own observation and flexed the cane with unmistakable joy. He was enjoying retirement more than ever.

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*Special thanks to Jim for the inspiration*

Comments welcome

I must thank my readers for their continued loyalty to The Canery, my small corner of the internet. It’s a place for those who share my unusual kink. It’s for spankos everywhere, and fans of the rattan school punishment cane in particular.

WARNING ADULTS ONLY

We have now reached five hundred thousand hits. Half a million! Gosh, I never thought we would be around this long. It’s such a shame that mentor Jonathan is no longer with us to share in the celebration.

Things have been a little quiet here, due to a variety of problems. Recently I shelved a story which I had spent far too much time on. No doubt it will get finished eventually and be shared here and possibly elsewhere too. Next new story here will be “Generations Of Love” (which is almost ready), and old favourite “Fire Breaks Out On Arthur’s Seat” will get its traditional, annual Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night outing. I’m hoping there will be some more guest author stories here too. I must thank everyone who has contributed stories, pictures, comments and encouragement. Your support means an awful lot to me.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot erotic fiction by special guest author Steveman –

strictly over 18s only!

I had been fascinated by corporal punishment for as long I could remember. I was never punished at home and by the time I went to school it had been banned. Films and books involving spanking were the only ways I could live out my fantasies.

My favourite fantasy involved the use of the belt. I saw a couple of western films where cowboys used their belts to administer a spanking. I was always attracted to men wearing wide leather belts and often hung around building sites where I could see fit blokes wearing wide belts with their jeans.

Now in my early 20s, I got really excited when I bought a gay mag and saw an advertisement for a club in London for CP enthusiasts. A few weeks later I made the trip to London, booked into a cheap hotel and that night made my way to the club. It was held in the cellar room of a back street pub. It looked quite frightening and I just walked past the door trying to pluck up the courage to go in.

After I had walked past the entrance several times, a voice behind me said, “What’s the matter mate, your first time?”

I was really scared but replied, “Yes, but I’m not sure it’s for me.”

I looked at the guy fully for the first time. Mid 30s, about 6 feet, well built, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. I had to admit that he looked the part.

“Look, how about coming in with me?” he offered,”I’ll make sure you’re OK.”

“Don’t think so,” I replied, “I’ve changed my mind, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea coming without knowing about the place.”

“OK, tell you what,” he offered, “My car is just around the corner, come with me and have a chat and we’ll see what we can work out.”

I have to admit the guy attracted me especially when he placed a hand on my shoulder in a friendly sort of way, so I agreed to go.

In his car he asked me if this was my first attempt at meeting someone and what I was hoping for. As he was so friendly, I managed to hide my embarrassment and told him my fantasies.

“Tell you what,” he said, “Forget the club for now and come back to my place and let’s talk some more. Then if you want to take it further you can.”

I was still feeling apprehensive but agreed. The guy did seem genuinely friendly. We drove for some time out of the centre of London towards the northern suburbs. The guy, who told me his name was Dave, was chatting all the time and was making me feel more at ease.

We finally arrived at his place; a small terraced house in a residential area that looked very respectable so I was less worried.

Inside, we went into the lounge furnished with a big black leather sofa and chairs. “Take off your jacket and sit down,” Dave said, “Like a drink?”

I asked for beer and Dave collected two cans, handed me one and opened the other. After taking a swig he put it down, unzipped and took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the vacant chair.

It was then I saw it, his wide, dark brown, shiny leather belt, just like the ones in my fantasies. I almost choked on my beer with excitement! He must have noticed me staring but said nothing. This man was really something, he looked even better in the light, good body, tight-fitting jeans and highly-polished black Doc Marten boots.

“It’s Sir when you speak to me, I’m the boss and you’re my boy, understand now?”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir!” I replied, beginning to feel a mixture of fright and excitement.

Nervously, I took off the clothes as ordered, leaving me standing in just my briefs. “Now come over here!” ordered Dave.

I went over and stood next to him. “Hands on head!” he shouted. I did as ordered. Then he grabbed the top of my briefs and pulled them down to my ankles. Next he grabbed my arm and hauled me over his knee, getting rid of my briefs.

“I’ll start you off with a good old fashioned spanking,” he said, rubbing his hand across my bare buttocks.

The first smack was a shock; it almost took my breath away. I didn’t think a guy could spank so hard with his hand. He kept going for what seemed an age, left cheek, right cheek and some smacks in the centre, some with his fingers catching the inside of my crack. I couldn’t believe the pain but also the excitement, and noticed I was getting a real boner against Dave’s thigh, which he couldn’t fail to notice.

Eventually the smacks stopped and Dave began rubbing my red-hot cheeks which only made my boner even harder.

“Stand up boy!” ordered Dave. Gingerly I stood up and instinctively my hands went to my stinging cheeks. “Leave your arse alone and sit down,” snapped Dave. I lowered myself gently into the chair, the cold leather felt good against the heat of my cheeks.

“How did that feel?” asked Dave, now back in his friendly role.

“Fantastic!” I replied.

“Good, glad you enjoyed it,” said Dave. “Now I had better get you back to your hotel. I’m free tomorrow if you want to take it further. What do you think? It’s a shame not to make the most of your visit.”

“I’d love to meet up again,” I replied eagerly, “But will my cheeks have cooled down by then?”

“Yes,” said Dave. “That was only a fairly moderate spanking, you’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“In that case I want you to belt me, and one more thing – can I see your belt before I go, just to give me something to think about?”

“Sure,” said Dave unbuckling his belt and drawing it through the loops on his jeans with a snapping noise, folding it double and handing it to me.

It felt wonderful, thick, wide, and smooth, I couldn’t resist bringing it up to my face and sniffing that strong scent of leather made stronger by the warmth of Dave’s body.

Dave took the belt back and snapped the two ends together making a loud crack that made my boner start again.

On the journey back to the hotel Dave arranged to pick me up the following morning. Sleeping was difficult. I kept feeling my still hot bottom, remembering with pleasure the session over Dave’s knee. Then thoughts of tomorrow’s belting. Could I really take it?

Next morning I had that now familiar feeling of apprehension and excitement. This is what I had come to London for and I was now determined to see it through.

Now with a cooler bottom, Dave collected me as arranged, still his friendly self, chatting away and checking that I still wanted to continue.

Back at his place he told me to go upstairs and go into the room on the right, there I was to strip and wait for him. At the top of the stairs I pushed open the door. The room was blacked out with a heavy blind; just a single light was on. The only thing in the room was a wooden frame with a padded top covered in leather; this was obviously how Dave carried out his real punishments.

I heard footsteps outside; Dave entered the room now bare-chested. The sight of this real man made my legs go like jelly.

“I ordered you to strip boy!” he snapped.

“Sorry Sir,” I whispered,”I didn’t have time.”

“Do it now boy!” yelled Dave. “You need some proper discipline.”

I quickly stripped and waited his further orders.

“On your knees in front of me.”

I went onto my knees.

“Now, lick my boots boy, and depending what sort of a job you make of them will decide your punishment.”

Without daring to hesitate, I put by face to his boot and licked, noticing the heavy scent of leather and polish.

“Harder and quicker!” yelled Dave.

I licked until my tongue ached and after completely covering one boot moved to the other with Dave constantly smacking my arse cheeks as encouragement until I had covered both boots.

“Right boy, perhaps that shows you who’s boss. Now on your feet.”

“Yes Sir,” I replied passively.

I stood in front of Dave. His hands went to his belt buckle which he unfastened, pulled the belt free from the loops of his jeans and folded it double. This was it, what I always wanted, now I was scared but had to go on.

“Over the frame boy.”

I turned to face the frame, took a deep breath and bent over the padded top, grabbing the front legs with all my strength, hoping I could take it without letting myself down. I had forgotten about my legs until I felt Dave’s boot between them, forcing them apart and making me feel very vulnerable.

I flinched as I felt Dave’s belt placed across the centre and then my cheeks as he measured his stroke. Then, a swish and a loud crack. My arse felt on fire but before I had a chance to recover, the second landed, followed by more. I tried not to cry out but the stokes seemed to be getting harder and soon I was yelling out. Despite the pain, I suddenly realised that my cock was rock hard and it was forced against the leather padding of the frame.

I lost count of the strokes. I was in heaven and hell at the same time. A really heavy stroke landed then no more. Was it over? Had I really accomplished my ambition?

“OK, get up,” Dave voice was much gentler now. “You took that well.”

With Dave’s help I stood up. My cock was now less hard and I noticed, to my embarrassment, a wet patch on the padding of the frame.

“Looks like you enjoyed that,” said Dave. “Perhaps you had better shower and then I’ll see you downstairs.”

The cooling shower was very welcome and in the mirror I could see the welts which made be feel proud, like a soldier with battle scars.

Showered and dressed I went downstairs where Dave fixed me a drink before driving me back into the centre of London.

“Anytime you want to see me again just give me a call,” he said, giving me a contact number. Somehow I think I may need it.

_______________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Used here by very kind permission of the author

_______________

Comments welcome

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Warning – Over 18s Only!

Warning: Contains adult material. Forbidden to those under the age of 18.

This blog is intended for adults only. All listed sites, pictures displayed or referred to in this blog feature consenting adult models and players over the age of 18. All stories and artwork featured are fiction only and refer to adults in role play. This blog is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

Important Note:
The owner of this blog does NOT condone, promote OR encourage the corporal punishment of minors or non-consenting adults.

The Cane

Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.

Disclaimer

All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey" - Kenji Miyazawa, author and poet (1896-1933)

Thought for another moment

"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what" - Harper Lee, author (1926-2016)

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Dedicated to Jonathan

This site is dedicated to the memory of Jonathan (aka jaybee300), friend, muse, gentleman and master, 1954-2014, R.I.P.